It Just Figures
by fylgja
Summary: Brody's and Howard's feelings after Kellerman spills the beans to Howard about Bordy's crush on her.
1. Chapter One

**It Just Figures**

*Chapter One*

Brody had never been so angry. He walked for hours that night in the stinging sleet blowing horizontally in the wind off the bay. It didn't add one iota to his misery. In fact, he didn't even notice it until he saw its sliver wetness slicing through the bright cone glaring down from a harbor light. He hadn't even the energy to think, _it just figures_, as all his thoughts centered on one thing—loudmouth tough guy _Mikey_, Kellerman the _mouth_, spilling his, Brody's, feelings about Howard to none other than Howard herself. He wanted to punch him out. He wanted to smack him upside the head with his camera. He wanted... he wanted... oh, God, he wanted Howard. Howard in her suits and ties, Howard in her wild hair, Howard in her crooked smile when she was feeling easy. He wanted her even more in her exciting anger, when she did that little thing of hers, that little lift of the shoulders followed by the hair toss. Then she'd tilt her head, look her victim dead in the eyes, and let loose. He'd gotten all of it on film; on the streets, in the box, in the break room. He'd gotten it all in dreams, too.

It hurt too much to go over again that little scene in the stairwell, when Kay answered a question before he asked it, and it was the wrong question—or the wrong answer. Definitely the wrong answer. What hurt the most was that she wouldn't believe him.

The tightness in his throat gripped him again, and he switched his thoughts back to Kellerman, and kicked hard at a chunk of ice in the middle of his path—and went flying. It was frozen solid to the ground, and Brody went tumbling instead of the ice. This time he did think, _it just figures_.

***********

Kay slammed into her apartment. How _dare_ they. How _bloody_ _dare_ they. She flipped up the kitchen light switch, threw her keys at the table, where they hit with satisfying force, slid across, and down onto the floor. Her coat was flung towards the back of a chair, where it missed the target and joined the keys in a heavy, wet heap. Kay stepped over it on her way to the cabinets above the stove. Hey, she was all for comradery, all for joining in the fun when and where appropriate, and God knows there was damn little of it in their line of work, but this was too much. She poured herself a glass of wine. Who was in on it? All of them? _And I never would have believed it of him._ Brody_ of all people!_ she thought. She stomped into her living room, flicked on the classical station and scrunched sideways into her favorite chair, long legs slung over one arm, curved neck snug on the other arm, her red hair tumbling down the side. It had taken her too damn long to to fit in with "the boys." And then there was the big set back, that lovely time of having to lay low, stroking all that wounded male ego, thick in the air, heavy enough to weigh down the ever present cigarette smoke, when she made sergeant. Why didn't she strut like a rooster, the way any one of them would have done with the same victory? Kay sighed. She didn't see any way out of this, other than ignoring it. _If I show my anger, _she thought,_ they'll think it's because I'm a _woman_, I can't handle it, can't take a joke. I guess I'm one of the boys now._

***********

Brody, in wet, torn corduroys, found himself standing in front of Kellerman's boat. The cabin was dark, locked from the outside. He stood in the biting wind, indulging a brief fantasy of trashing the boat, taking an axe to the hull, peeing on it, something. The water looked deep and cold, the dark waves choppy, edged in white froth. His eyes burned more than his skinned palms. He figured Kellerman was probably sitting at the Waterfront with the others, all falling off their bar stools in their hilarity— 'Here's to Brody and Howard!' while he was out here freezing. _Aw, the hell with it._ He limped home.

Once inside he headed straight for a hot shower. Ten minutes later he was warm in sweats, leaning against the wall under the curved entry to his tiny living room, staring into space. He wasn't hungry. Nothing in the place to drink and dull his pain. So he added to it. He pushed himself off the wall and walked into the dark room. Turning on the TV and VCR, he slid in one of his tapes.

***********

Debussy was on the radio. The sleet had stopped, the sky had cleared, and a beautiful winter moon bathed her with its light through the window. Kay had calmed down enough to stop jiggling her leg up and down. Now if only the foot would cooperate.

***********

Brody rewound the tape many times, just to see her quirky smile again. He started to think about what she must be feeling, her anger, her humiliation. Howard. She preferred Howard to Kay, in fact, wouldn't answer to Kay, wouldn't even look up. _(Howard. How can I face her again?)_ She wore Howard like she wore her suits and ties, maybe thinking those guys would forget she was a woman, treat her like an equal. Not many women homicide cops. And where did it get her? His anger fired hot again, and his chest tightened.

***********

Kay brooded. She was calmer, and thinking much more clearly now. Who was in on it? She quickly eliminated Bayliss; Pembleton and Gee of course never in the running—that left Munch, Kellerman and Meldrick, without a doubt. She should expect this sort of stuff from the three stooges, it was just their style. But Brody... she always thought of him as gentle, sensitive, the one who fitted in even less than she. That stupid little backwards hat he wore! But hey, he was even a little sweet, in that annoying way of his... Suddenly, something struck her. She heard his insistent voice, over and over, ringing in her head, what she had refused to hear as she walked up the ramp and away from him in the stairwell earlier that day—'It's _not_ a _joke_!' Her foot stopped it's dance. 

***********

Across the murdering city, Brody slumped on his ratty couch, staring at the screen which filled the room with flickering light and a numbing, hissing static. He started the tape again. Suddenly he startled at the loud ringing of his phone, snatched it up. "Yeah?" he mumbled. He sat forward. "_Detective_ _Howard_?" He put his hand over his burning eyes and sighed deeply.


	2. Chapter Two

**It Just Figures**

*Chapter Two*

"_Detective Howard_?" he repeated. He couldn't believe she was on the phone, that she called him. Of course how else would they be on the phone with each other? He'd never have the nerve to call her.

"Brody…" He heard her let out an exasperated puff of air, like she was blowing a stray strand of hair from in front of her face.

"Brody... we have to talk," she continued after a pause.

"Oh, shit!" he whispered to himself as he scrambled for the remote. He jammed his thumb randomly up and down over the buttons in a panic, trying to turn off the tape in the darkened room, afraid Howard would hear herself over his end of the phone.

"Oh _SHIT_?" he heard her say, followed quickly by "Hey, _fine_."

"No, that's not what I meant!" he said quickly. "I mean, no, please, Kay—I mean _Sergeant Howard_," a bit too loudly, and then, softer, "I didn't mean you, Detective Howard." And he shut up.

A pause, then a sigh. "Brody, I was a little, well, stressed this afternoon, and..."

He interrupted, "No, Detective, it's no big deal. It's okay, really."

"No, Brody, damn it, it's not okay—_really_," she added sarcastically. She sounded even angrier than she had in the stairwell.

"Um, okay," he said, then shut up again.

"Listen. I really don't know what to say, I mean, hey, I don't even know why I'm calling," she laughed. Brody suddenly feared she would end the call right then and there, and he felt his heart sinking fast. _Say something_!

"Detective Howard!" he blurted, "Would you, maybe, um, meet me tomorrow morning? I mean, if you think, I mean you _said_ we have to talk.." he stammered. He couldn't _believe_ what he just said! There was a pause on the other end of the line, time for Brody to think, _idiot_!

Howard sighed again. "Where. And what time."

******

The next morning dawned cold and breezy and sunny. Had it been a hurricane Brody would have thought it a beautiful morning. He was down at the bay side a half hour early, sitting on a very cold park bench with a $1.99 red rose in crinkling plastic wrapping gripped tightly in his hand. He would have liked a rose in soft, green tissue from a florist, but the Quickie Mart was the only place open that early. And he waited.

Howard was late, so of course he thought she changed her mind. He was scrunched down low on the bench, legs stretched out in front of him, tightly crossed at the ankles. _She wasn't going to show._ His chin was almost on his chest. A greasy brown paper bag with bagels and rapidly cooling coffee sat on the bench to his right. His arms were crossed. Every muscle was tight; in the cold, in his misery. And he thought, _What are you so hopped up about anyway? _He unfolded his arms from his chest to jam his cap down even tighter on his head. _What do you think is going to happen? _He rolled his eyes._ Sheesh! Idiot! Did you think she was going to come?_ He opened his hand and let the noisy rose fall to be carried off with the wind. It slid across the sidewalk to the harbor's edge and over, to waltz with the white-capped waves. Dancing up and down, up and down, in and out of his sight it bobbed, on waves that rose higher than the pavement to drop right back down out of sight again, into the cold, green sea. It seemed to be mocking him—Rose? She Loves Me. No Rose? She Loves Me Not... until he couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed the bag to fling it into the water and sink the damn rose, when out of the corner of his eye he saw a little red tornado twisting above a slight figure striding towards him along the bike path. He caught his breath—_breathe, Brody_—as she came closer. She was wearing a worn navy p-coat, her hands jammed deep into the pockets. He glimpsed a knotted tie under the wide vee of her wool coat collar. Jeans and sneakers. She was beautiful, and he couldn't believe she showed.

"What the hell is that?" she greeted him.

"Uh, bagels," he said.

"No, _that_!" She pointed to his left.

"Um, a kite?" he answered.

******

Side by side, they walked out into the empty early morning park, aways off from the bay and a bobbing rose. The grass was winter burned brown, the trees bare. "A _kite_?" she said again. "Aw, com'on!" But she smiled, just a little bit. And just a little crooked.The next thing Kay knew, they were joined by a third party.

It was a bat. The biggest, blackest damn bat she had ever seen. A damned, diurnal bat that flew in the light of day on the end of a string. She had never flown a kite before, and watched open-mouthed as he fed the string further and further, the bat flying ever higher. She thought, _this is just _silly_. What am I doing here?_ Then gasped as the bat lost its sonar and flew too close to a harbor light near the water. Forgetting everything, she grabbed his arm just below his shoulder, bellowing at him, "WATCH IT!" then, "Oh, _oh_!" when he pulled on the string, leaning way back and towards her at the same time, bumping her sideways, and the bat dipped down and away from disaster in the nick of time.

"Wanna try?" asked Brody.

She looked surprised, dipped her head sideways a bit.

"I don't know how," she said.

She startled when Brody took her left hand in his right and put it on the end of the big, blue plastic spool with its thick winding of grubby string.

"Got it?" he asked.

She nodded, gripping tightly. He nodded back, let go, stepped away. She shifted the spool to her right hand, put her other hand on the left handle and she breathed in in amazement. The kite was weaving back and forth in the wind, scooping, darting, rising. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. There were no murders in this world. This was a world of only sky, wind, sun, and a bat on a string. This wasn't balsa and paper, this was something _alive_ in her hands, she could feel it, feel its pull, feel its _pulse_. She looked at Brody looking at her.

"Can I let it go higher?" she asked.

"Let more string out," Brody answered, "But remember—you let it out, you bring it in. Them's the rules!"

Kay looked back at the bat. She loosened her grip on the spool and it spun in a blur, the kite getting smaller against the sunny, blue sky. 

Watching her, Brody slipped in and out of the moment. Flying with the kite, he was in his element, he'd forget himself, and then suddenly remembering where he was, in a pretty park with Howard, he'd slip back again, unsure. Yet something about it was different. It was an easier feeling than before, and he didn't know why, he just didn't recognize a touch of hope.

Suddenly, the bat dive bombed towards the earth.

"Omi_god_!" she screamed. "What do I _do_? Brody, help! It's committing _suicide_!"

Brody, running backwards, yelled, "Move back!" "Pull it this way!"

She ran backwards too, not knowing whether to look at the kite or over her shoulder so as not to fall, and not caring either, just doing. And miraculously, the bat flew back into the sky. When she saw it soaring again, she stopped running, threw her head back and laughed. She looked at Brody to see him grinning up at the kite. She noticed that his teeth were small and white, and he had this tiny triangle of red beard, just under his lower lip—dead center.


	3. Chapter 3

**It Just Figures**

*Chapter Three*

"Homicide," Lewis picked up the call. "Huh. Uh, huh. Corner Keystone and Kasson Avenues, uh, huh." He hung up the phone, looked around the squad room for Kellerman.

"Yo! Mikey!" he called.

Munch looked up from the paper he was reading. "Got a live one?" he asked.

Lewis smirked, looked out the window. "No, I gotta dead one. All them live ones is up at that new strip club down on good Dr. King's drive. We, my friend," he continued, looking back at Munch, "work in Homicide. Homicide means dead. Now, why is it you don't know that, with that nose of yours always stuck in some book?" He stood looking down at John, head tilted, finger on the side of his nose.

Munch shook his head, went back to his paper.

"MIKEY!" Lewis bellowed. "Now, where do you suppose he got off to?" he added out loud to himself.

Munch turned the page. "Not my turn to watch him."

Lewis strode off into the break room. The phone rang again. Munch, not taking his eyes off the paper, slowly reached for the receiver, hand groping empty space in slow motion. Just as he looked up to locate the phone, the ringing stopped. "Homicide," he heard Frank say. His hand floated back to his paper. He hadn't missed a word.

Lewis came back into the squad room and walked up to Munch. He slid Munch's feet off the desk and replaced them with his hip. "Hey, my fine partner..."

Munch held out his hand to stop him. "Hold on one second there, Lewis, don't call ME partner. Your real partner's feelings would be hurt."

"Well, my _real_ partner ain't _here_ to _hear_, is he? _You_ see him anywhere around this fine establishment? Besides, the man ain't got no feelings," answered Meldrick. "Anyway, you're my partner at the _bar_, ain't'cha? Don't that count for somethin'?" He smiled sweetly at Munch.

Munch closed his paper, slid it under his blotter, "Now why do I have the feeling this isn't about the Waterfront?" he mumbled as he rose from his chair.

******

The garage was dark, the open sides almost too much to look at with the brilliant sun outside. The cars were vague shapes silhouetted against the brightness.

"Can't even tell the black n' whites from the unmarks," bitched Munch.

"Now that's not somethin' a man with your brains, a _homicide_ _po_lice, _top_ of the _cops_, should ever admit," Meldrick baited him as they walked towards a large, block-letter style 26 painted in what used to be white on the cement wall. Darkened by years of exhaust, the numbers were barely legible, scratched and chipped by bumpers of cars driven by tired, angry police. Cops who just wanted _out_ of the damn car, _off_ of the damn roster, _out_ of the damn uniform, be it blue with a badge or black with a tie, and into a dark, damn tavern.

"Hey, Lewis, get off my back," Munch tried half-heartedly at anger, "I'm not supposed to be your other half anywhere besides the Waterfront—_Partner_. And speaking of partner, where's _is_ old Mikey, off sailing the deep, blue seas?"

"Beats me," Meldrick answered, tossing the keys to John, who caught them nicely. They got into a dirty Cavalier. Meldrick scrunched down in the seat, feet shoving aside empty cardboard coffee cups and crunching styrofoam fast food boxes in a vain attempt to stretch his legs in the cramped, trash-filled vehicle. Meldrick said, smiling, "Not my turn to _watch_ him," and pulling his leather pork pie hat down low over his closed eyes, he settled back for a quick snooze.

******

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty, before I kiss you!"

"Now, John, why you got to wake me with a nightmare? And here I was, having a beautiful dream," Meldrick sighed.

"Well, welcome back to the real world," Munch announced, "We're here," turning the wheel sharply towards the curb. Rubber-neckers jumped away from it's edge as Munch cut in close and braked the car with a jerk, throwing Lewis forward as intended. The hat flying off was a bonus. Meldrick shot him a dirty look. John smiled back. "Skipped the seat belt again, I see. Don't you know how many lives seat belts save each year?" He unbuckled his own. The men climbed awkwardly out of the car.

"Look at that, would you just look at those goddamned vultures!" Lewis shook his head. "Mmm, mmm, mmm! And not a one of them will have them sharp eyes that those corpse-eating birds is supposed to have!"

"I believe you're referring to birds of prey. Do you know why vultures don't have any feathers on their heads?" Munch asked as he slammed the car door.

Lewis reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a small green notebook and a Bic pen with a well-chewed cap. Munch lifted the yellow tape reading CRIME SCENE. DO NOT CROSS, held it up for Lewis to go under. Lewis did this limbo style.

"Hey, _partner_, I asked you a question. I take it that your lack of an answer is a clear clue that you have no answer—and that's probably the only clue we'll get on this fine day," Munch added, looking down at the victim, who lay past caring on cold cement.

"Is this a joke? This better be a joke, asking me some dumb question at a _crime_ scene about _vulture_ feathers," he said. "Let _me_ ask _you_ a question, John! What would I _even_ _care_ about some damn, bald vultures?" Meldrick demanded, nodding at a uniform on the scene at the same time.

Munch was circling the body slowly, looking carefully at everything surrounding it. "For your edification, a vulture's head is featherless because said feathers on said bird would get awfully messy and difficult to clean with the bird sticking it's head into carrion time after time. Nature's garbage man, my friend."

Meldrick circled in the other direction, scribbling notes as he walked. He would be the only person able to make out these hieroglyphics. "They sure don't call you a walking encyclopedia of useless information for nothing, now do they," he laughed. Then he called to the uniform, "Any witnesses here, Henry my man?" Henry spread his lips thin, corners pulled down. "What do you think, Lewis? Nobody seen nuttin'," he said with disgust, adding, "So what else is new?" Lewis thought, _Damn! _Ever'body_ be askin' me goddamned questions today!_

Lewis and Munch had circled their way in close to the body. They stood side by side, looking down into a very dead face. This one had a look of grim understanding in its eyes, a look that seemed to say, "Oh.—it's my time now. It's my turn to die."

*****

"Well, I'll be damned," Munch said softly. Lewis said, not surprisingly, "Mmm, mmm, mmm," shaking his head. The victim was without a coat, and his bloodied shirt was practically in pieces, most likely shredded by the same knife that stabbed him repeatedly. "This here fellow has got hisself 3 nipples!" he hissed to Munch. Then he chuckled, "Maybe he's from outer space, eh, Munch? Ain't that your department?"

"It's known as a witch's teat you idiot, and it's not as uncommon as you might think, if you ever do," John snapped. "And just because I happen to find many things interesting, just because I have an open—and _superior_, I might add—mind—"

"Yeah, I heard you believe in them u-foes!" Lewis cut him off. He laughed openly now.

They squatted, pulling on rubber gloves, to search the pockets gingerly. They'd heard of dicks finding needles in pockets, and other things, too, surprises they didn't care to think about. 

"—doesn't mean I'm some damn encyclopedia," John continued, "Although I _will_ admit, I'm the closest thing to an encyclopedia you and some of my _many partners_ will ever come across!" he finished.

"Hey, looky here—" Lewis pulled out a wallet near bursting with cash. He ran his thumb over the edge of the $100.00 bills, whistling.

"And just who is our...wealthy friend?" Munch said. "Lucky certainly wouldn't be the appropriate adjective here."

"Beats me. No license, credit cards, no i.d. at all, _nada_, zip. Nothin' over on your side of the street?"

"The cupboard is bare, my friend."

"Mmm, mmm. Well, all I got to say is our perp may be one sick bastard, but ya gotta hand it to him. He ain't no low down thief." They were still squatting beside the body; Meldrick staring at it, John looking off into space, the two men lost in their own thoughts. "What you wanna bet that knife ain't within a'hunerd miles of here?" Lewis suddenly said, as if to himself. "And no witnesses, neither." He looked away for a moment, and then back at Munch. "It's starting to look bad, my fellow superhero, my co-avenger of the dead. It's starting to look like we might be right smack in the middle of a goddamned whodunit here." He finished, "All we got is a rich stiff from the planet Neptune and a buncha bald vultures."

John Munch stood with a groan. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, leaning backwards for a moment, looking up into the sunny blue sky. Then he looked down at Lewis, who was still "mmm, mmm, mmm-ing to himself. "To quote Tonto," Munch said, "What you mean _we_, Paleface!"

Just then the ME's black dodge wagon pulled up. "Half of what I say is meaningless..." Munch sang, "...but I say it just to reach you, Ju—li—an. Na." He smiled down at Meldrick and added, "And vultures are _featherless_, Dumbnuts. _Eagles_ are bald." 

[Author's note: Thanks to Lennon/McCartney for the line from "Julia." Huge thanks to the brilliant minds who created/own "Homicide: Life on the Streets" and its characters. Chapter 2 dedicated to Girly-Girl. This story is dedicated to Bee Bee with thanks for nagging me. Research source: "Homicide – A Year on the Killing Streets" by David Simon.]


	4. Chapter 4

Dear Readers,

_Please_ take a moment and review my story. Your comments are what keeps me writing! Thanks so much!

Fylgja

*Chapter Four*

Julianna parked behind the Cavalier. Lewis stood up, dropping the worn little notebook back inside his pocket. John stopped his singing. All the guys in the squad room had a thing for Julianna. And they all knew she and Kellerman had a little romance going on the side, so of course they would never act on their feelings. The Brotherhood of Cops and its Laws of Loyalty went far beyond their working lives. Yet they didn't hide their attraction for her—not around Mikey, at any rate. In fact they flaunted it, just to get his goat. It was simply too much fun to see that anger darken his face. They sometimes took bets on how many seconds it would take to get the vein in his forehead to bulge.The Brotherhood had its fun side, too. The only person these men were subtle around (they thought) regarding their admiration of Julianna was Julianna herself. But she knew.

Lewis and Munch watched Julianna as she walked confidently around to the back of her vehicle and lifted a medical bag from the trunk of her car. Her chin length, glossy black hair swung as she slammed the lid and turned towards the detectives, shining a smile at two men who stood stiff as statues, arms crossed tightly across their chests. Their stance mirrored each other, yet with their very different looks Cox thought they resembled a mis-matched pair of socks. They smiled back, furthering the odd effect.

Lewis leaned sideways towards John a bit and quietly said out of the corner of his mouth, "Did you see how fine that was? How... perfect? Who would have thought slamming a trunk could be so graceful!" Lewis had slipped out of his street talk. "She probably studied ballet when she was a little girl."

Munch didn't notice the change of lingo. He leaned back towards Lewis, saying, trying not to move his lips, "You're wrong, my friend. She's too smart, she'd would have been bored stiff. She was a reader."

"Ballet dancers read, too," Meldrick hissed back through his teeth as he continued smiling at Julianna. "What about that one they called The Swan?" Munch stiffened is surprise, but his eyes never left the ME. As she neared, both men went into action. Lewis reseated his hat, smoothed his goatee. Munch ran his hands through his hair, cleared his throat. And the closer she got, the more they fidgeted. When she was about a foot away, they both lunged so suddenly for the tape that she reared back, luckily, she thought, as they smacked right into each other, so hard they almost bounced. Meldrick's hat flew again, and Julianna dipped her head quickly, pretending she didn't see, but really to stifle her laughter. As the men were busy giving each other dirty looks, Cox lifted the tape herself and walked under.

"So, boys!" she said brightly. "What have we got here?" she asked, looking down at John Doe.

Lewis got his cool back first. He stepped away from Munch. "Ms. Cox," he said, stooping next to the body and sweeping his large hand over its chest like he was a game show model showing some lucky winner a brand new car, "What we got here is known as a witch's teat! Now, they're not as uncommon as you may think!" She frowned, puzzled, so Lewis pointed at what appeared to be a spot on the chest. Julianna leaned over to see an extra nipple. Munch was standing behind her, dumfounded.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, "I've never seen one of these before!" She squatted next to Meldrick. Using a pencil, she moved a shard of shirt out of the way for a closer look. The infamous nipple was situated about a quarter inch from the left one, nearer to the center of the chest, where corpse's heart lay quiet. "Do you think this has anything to do with the murder?" she asked.

"All kind'a things motivate killers," Meldrick said in a professional voice. I haf'ta to consider every little thing, no matter how common or weird—_especially_ weird."

"Then I suppose in your line of work it's important to know all kinds of strange little trivia." Cox volleyed back.

Lewis went in for the kill. "I make it my business to know these things," _Slamdunk!_ Munch's mouth fell open. He was completely incredulous.

"Well, it's no wonder you're such a good detective." Julianna gave Lewis a warm smile. Lewis beamed. He did a tiny back and forth dance with his head, tilting his chin sideways and back, very pleased with himself.

John recovered slightly, enough for him to stop catching flies at least. Positively bristling, he growled, "Yeah, he's all that and a bag of chips!" _Aw, jeeze, did I just say what I _think_ I said?_ The horrible thought paralyzed him. _Brilliant comeback,_ _Bright-eyes,_ he thought. 

Lewis stood, laughing. "Com'on, Munchkin, let's go see if any of our bald vultures can talk, maybe do a little door to door socializing. We'll leave Ms. Dr. Cox to her work here." He tipped his hat to Julianna, smiling, as he slipped his arm through John's and pulled him towards the crowd.

Munch shook him off, embarrassed and furious both. _The ka_hu_nas on this guy!_ he thought. In the squad room the Munchkin handle could get annoying, but it was part of the banter, and he allowed it up to a point. And in quieter moments, he even admitted to himself a slight affection for the nickname, although he definitely drew the line at warm and fuzzy. But now it had been used in front of Julianna! He was appalled. "Dr. Cox." he said professionally and stormed off after a nod. Lewis gave her a grin over his shoulder as he followed John. This time Julianna laughed out loud. And then she got busy with what she did best.

When the uniforms saw her removing the internal thermometer from the bag, they spread their arms wide to move the audience further back from the scene. Doe may be a dead Doe, but even the dead deserved privacy and dignity. In their line of work, it could be any one of them getting the rectal thermometer on a cold city street in broad daylight, and they all knew it.

And the crowd backed off like nervous lambs, shuffling, stepping on each other's toes, bumping into each other. The ones in the rear started fanning out in all directions, purposefully away from the scene—some nonchalant, trying not to draw attention to themselves, others blatantly sprinting. It wasn't the action of the cops that brought on the exodus—it was the two detectives heading towards them that started the stampede. These people knew the drill, and not one of them wanted to spend an hour in the box with a couple of snarling sheepdogs biting at their heels.

*****

A few hours later Lewis and Munch pulled up outside the morgue. It was a large, weather-beaten brick structure, plain and depressing. Many nondescript vehicles and a few squad cars filled the closest available spaces in the lot, so John had to park some distance away. He pulled up his collar as they hoofed it through the cold wind. They strode past the wagon, parked at the loading dock next to a ramp. At the top of the ramp under the shade of the overhang, sat an empty metal gurney. Munch shivered.

As they neared the building, John, as was his habit, checked out the two rows of handicap spaces,10 slots on each side of the main entrance. He saw what he expected to see, and shook his head. _Empty as usual_, he thought with annoyance. Government overkill of any sort was a pet peeve of his. He started a healthy rant to Lewis about it, but let it fade as they walked in and the heavy glass doors closed behind them. The place had that effect on everybody.

"Why is it always so damn cold in here?" Meldrick whispered, rubbing his hands together as they started down the hall.

Munch whispered back, "I've got an even better question. Why do we always whisper in here? Considering most of the occupants are dead—which is why it's cold, by the way—we're not in danger of offending anyone."

Lewis and Munch continued quietly down the long empty hall, side by side. They passed many doors, each one holding mounted signs reading **Positively No Admittance**, or, **Authorized Personnel Only**. The autopsy room was at the end of the hall. Its doors carried both messages._There's something about this place that just puts a muzzle on people_, Lewis thought. _Just walking through the damn doors shuts folks up—even John finally shut up!_ His attempt at humor didn't take away his unease. Whenever he was there, Meldrick's head buzzed with strange thoughts, and he hated it.

Their silent foot falls seemed to echo back at Lewis off the yellowed and cracked tile walls. _Now, that's just impossible_, he thought. _Silence don't make no echo. You got to get a'hold of yourself, man!_ He then got the eerie sensation that the building itself demanded silence. _And if I broke that silence, then what?_ He stopped, suddenly and without a word, in the middle of the hall. He felt hot all over. He threw his hat to the floor and ripped off his coat, as if the quick removal of the physical offense would coax the removal of the mental offense. He just didn't know what else to do.

John stooped and picked up the hat. He knew not to say anything. Lewis concentrated on folding his coat but with one sleeve inside-out he was getting nowhere fast. He finally wrapped it into a lump and shoved it first under one arm, then under the other, stalling, as he fought off the thought inside of him. Finally he just stopped, defeated and confused. He looked at Munch, who was watching him with concerned, unabashed curiosity. That did it for Lewis. He snapped out of it. Scowling in anger at himself, he took it out on John. "What you lookin' at!" he demanded, voice raised, a real echo surprising both of them. Meldrick then shoved his coat none too gently into Munch's belly, adding. "Here. YOU hold it," and stormed off into the nearest men's room.

_Wow! Must be one helluva case of the heebie-jeebies,_ thought John. _And here I am, a guy who deals almost daily with gruesome murders, yet I can't take hospitals or morgues. Go figure._ He didn't know most all of the homicide detectives felt that way.

When Lewis came back out he was his old self again. Munch was leaning on the wall waiting for him, the coat folded and the hat resting on top of the neat bundle. John could tell by the dampness of Meldrick's hair that he had probably stuck his head under cold water. Meldrick said pleasantly, "Thanks." And took his things. Again they walked in silence, and soon arrived at their destination.

Both men stopped just outside the autopsy room and took deep breaths. It was so automatic neither one ever noticed doing it, even though it was practically a ritual—and it was a ritual all detectives practiced.

*****

They pushed through the swinging doors like they owned the joint, and walked up to Julianna, who stood leaning on the counter next to one of many hand-washing stations, watching their approach with a smile. She was briskly rubbing lotion onto her hands. The constant washing of them, especially during winter, left them reddened and painfully raw if she didn't keep up on it. She carried lotion with her everywhere, and there was a large bottle at every sink, situated just underneath the foam soap dispenser. When she was finished she reached behind her and took a large men's ring off of the emergency eye-wash station that hung on the wall. It was her father's ring. She slipped it onto her forefinger. "Gentlemen?" she said.

Lewis gave her a wide grin. "We just stopped by to axe you a question," he said. Munch looked puzzled until he heard, "Do you know why vultures got no feathers on their heads?" Then his eyes narrowed, and an audible, strangled sound came from his throat. Meldrick turned to him with a wicked grin. "Wass' up, Partner, chokin' on a kabob? Got you a hairball or somethin'?" he asked.

Munch opened his mouth, but before he could retort, Julianna jumped in. "What an absolutely _fascinating_ question, Meldrick!" Meldrick's smile faded as she added, "You and Munch must be spending much more time together now that you've bought the Waterfront. He's starting to rub off on you."

"_Thank_ you!" John said. "And a little _too_ much time, I might add."

Lewis laughed. He would have teased John endlessly, but the jig was up on this one.

"What'cha got for us, Ms. Dr. Cox?" he changed the subject.

"I'm afraid what I have for you isn't much," she sighed, getting serious. They followed her to a gurney close by, stood on each side of her as she pulled back the sheet. The three of them looked down at the body, its eyes now closed by someone who had time to care, probably an assisting tech. "Serrated knife, a good-sized one, too. Oh, and sharp, very, very sharp. 16 stab wounds, each one of them deep enough do the job right the first time. I'm no detective, guys, but I'd say without a doubt you've got one very angry perp out there."

"You're a detective of the anatomy, Julianna," said Munch.

"Why, thank you, John," she answered, visibly pleased.

Meldrick agreed totally with John, and while he wanted to join in on the compliment (anything to have that smile turn back towards him—and away from Munch) he couldn't, because Munch was the one who came up with it, and worse, said it. _Goddamn_, he thought. And, his male pride also couldn't allow the unintended but unavoidable compliment to John that would have resulted by his, Lewis's agreement. So he ignored the whole situation completely, and said to Cox, "Fibers? Defense wounds? Any of that there, what'cha call, DNA under them nails?"

"We'll have to wait on the lab for any results from the scrapings." She tilted her head, looking up and down at the body as she spoke. "A few fibers," she looked at the thigh area. Munch wondered if her looking over the body helped her to remember all the evidence collected for the lab. "Some hairs that may or may not belong to our Doe," she looked toward the right shoulder. "I put the death roughly between 11 p.m. last night and 3 a.m. this morning." _I'll be damned... _John swore she looked right at the heart when she said this. Now she actually grasped the body's wrists and turned the arms, showing the palms and the pale, cold undersides of the forearms. She continued, "And as you can see, there are no defense wounds, which I find odd, since he was attacked from the front."

"_Told_ ya she was a detective," Lewis whispered to Munch. Munch ignored him.

Did you find any witnesses on your door-to-doors?" Julianna asked.

"Nary a one," John sighed. Everybody was sleeping like sweet babies last night. Wish I knew the secret..."

"We do have one or two a'what I call the 'pretendin' not to be homes' to drop in on, though." Lewis interrupted. "Maybe in a day or two. Catch the suckers off guard, give 'em a little time to forget to pretend. Maybe we'll luck out, catch us an insomniac."

"Highly doubtful, my friend," said John. "In this business, I find most witnesses claim to be a victims of somnambulism."

They looked at him blankly.

"_Somni_. It means sleep. Old Latin I think." Julianna smiled, knowing where this was going. Munch rolled his eyes. "And _ambulate_, or walk. As in 'walk in your sleep,'" Munch continued. "Sleepwalking."

"I get it, already!" Lewis pleaded.

"Anyway, what it _really_ means is just more damned flat-foot dancing to look forward to," John said, "and probably to that same old tune, "I didn't see nothing," he sang in the "nah, nah, nah-nah, nah melody. He looked pointedly at Meldrick, smiling. "Oh, and by the way—you'll be waltzing with Kellerman, because when this shift is over, your current and temporary partner is leaving the dance floor. That's 5 o'clock p.m. my friend, and I'm outta here. Permanently. That's what _I_ look forward to."

"What, you can't even wait 'til midnight, Cinderella? Am I that b—" Lewis started.

"Whoa, there," Julianna laughed. "I really do hate to end this lively discussion, but take a look around you, fellas. You see all of these bodies here? See how they're politely waiting their turns, everybody nice and quiet, nobody arguing for attention..." John and Meldrick gave each other looks that said, _She's talkin' about YOU!_ "...and I'd like to reward their patience with a little TLC, so if we could have a bit of privacy," she smiled innocently at the detectives and batted her long lashes. _My God,_ she thought, _they're actually blushing_!

The men beat a hasty but dignified retreat. Lewis tipped his hat, Munch bowed. They turned their backs on a lovely smile and headed towards the swinging doors. "Mmm, mmm, mmm! That just ain't fair! Look like a fella gotta be _dead_ to get TLC from our good doctor. Ain't she somethin,' " Lewis finished his speech. "I think you should go for it," John coaxed. "And that explains Mikey!" Then turning to walk backwards, he called out to Julianna, "Stop in at the Waterfront later, Dr. Cox, and over some fine liquid relaxation, I'll tell you many fascinating facts about birds of prey."

Not to be outdone, Lewis too walked backwards, adding, "And that's on the house, for _you_, Ms. Dr. Cox," he added.

And then they both banged into the door. More bows, from both, and they disappeared.

Julianna, pulling on a fresh pair of powdered gloves, shook her head, laughing.

*****

The men had nothing to say to one another as they walked away from the room, each lost in his own thoughts. They walked fast. Everybody walked fast on the way out of the building, anxious to escape the constant reminders of mortality it held—not that homicide police didn't get almost constant reminders anyway, but at least there were breaks from it on the streets and in the squad room. Also, the building reeked—all powerful smells—of death, disinfectant, and _orange_ for chrissake. Always that bizarre orange odor, some kind of aerosol to cover the ever-present smell of death. And the spray didn't work. It rather, unfortunately, seemed to _mingle_. Many of the morgue workers smeared Vicks VapoRub under their noses, while homicide detectives carried it in their pockets. They might forget their guns, but nobody forgot to take their "rub" (Munch called it peppermint camphor), and they horded it like Chapstik. And nobody ate oranges any more, either.

John suddenly broke the silence, startling his companion. He said quietly, "There, my friend, is the answer as to why we whisper."

He tilted his head towards the exit they were nearing. Meldrick looked to see a uniform standing aside from the glass door, holding it open for a middle-aged man and woman. The man had a supporting arm around the sobbing woman, who was near to collapse in her grief. He was pale, weary, and had a dull hopelessness in his eyes that the detectives recognized instantly.The cop looked very, very tired. He nodded at Munch and Lewis who, unnoticed by the couple, had stepped backed against the cold tile, out of the way. They stood watching as the trio made their way down the long hallway. The man's knees buckled at the door to the autopsy room.


	5. Chapter 5

**It Just Figures**

*Chapter Five*

"Com'on, Partner," John elbowed Meldrick, pushed himself away from the wall. "Our paperwork awaits. Must report to The High One. _Tempus Fugit_."

_Tempus Fugit_? Meldrick thought. _Aw, hell, I'm tired._ He followed him out the door. The walk back to the car wasn't as bad. One, they were leaving the morgue. Two, the wind had eased some. They got in the car. Meldrick settled back, tipped his hat over his eyes, and nothing happened. He opened one eye, looked out at Munch from under his hat. "Well?" he asked.

"SEAT BELT! John exploded. "Put on your goddamned seat belt!" Meldrick about jumped out of his skin.

"Jeeze, yeah, alright!" he yelled right back at John. "Don't want to be flying into no _wind_shield again, hurtin' this handsome face," Lewis mumbled, pulling the seat belt down and strapping himself in. He settled back into his seat again, twisting and grunting to be sure John knew how uncomfortable the seat belt was. "Do you s'pose workman's comp covers folks whose partners always be deliberately trying to smash folk's faces who just be living their own lives without _some_ partners tryin' to be their damn _mommas_?"

"_What_?" Munch cried, exasperated.

And what the hell is this 'temper fudge it' shit?"

"_Tempus Fugit_," answered John. "Latin. It means Time Flies."

"Well, why you be always talkin' in priest talk? What's the matter with you, why can't you be like everybody else?Why can't you just say, 'time—' " Suddenly, Meldrick sat up, looked at Munch. "Hey! What did one frog say to the other?" he asked.

"Do tell."

"Time's sure fun when you're havin' flies!" John rolled his eyes. Lewis laughed, slapped his knee, settled back, fell instantly into a nap.

_How the hell does he _do_ that?_ John thought.

*****

Most of the detectives were in house, a rare occurrence in a city with nearly a murder a day to its credit, and the squad room was cacophony of noise. Banter shot back and forth between the cops like a pin ball, cigarettes bouncing in the corners of mouths. Phones were ringing, computers humming, monitors glowing over keyboards that were pounded with a sound like popcorn popping. The radiators banged and hissed under grimy windows, the ever present background music in homicide hell. Smoke hung in the air, part of the decor, along with the odor of fast food and burnt coffee. Munch walked straight to the break room to get a cup of the bitter brew. Lewis went to his desk, sat back, and put his feet up. He was about to pull his hat down, when suddenly, everything quieted. His feet hit the floor fast as the doorway darkened with the intimidating largeness of Gee. The dicks could _feel_ his presence. Gee smiled as Munch hissed loudly from the other end of the room, "Cheese it—the boss!"

"Cheese it, indeed!" Gee beamed at his detectives. "How goes it, fair knights of the kingdom of Baltimore? Specifically Sirs' Lewis and Munch?"

"Sirs' Lewis and Munch have a dead Doe warlock, _that's_ how _goes_ it," Meldrick answered.

Tim spoke from above his paperwork. "There's no such thing as a warlock," he said. Frank, sitting across from him, head bent low over his keyboard, stopped typing.

"That's where you're wrong, Bayliss," Meldrick turned in his chair, "Our John Doe has three—"

"No, Timmy's right," interrupted John. "The term warlock is just another Hollyvision/Telewood myth. Male witches are just that—male witches."

Lewis turned to Munch, then back to Bayliss, who continued, "Witches are a big religion now. It's called Wicca, and Wicca is the basis for the word _wise_." Frank was still hunched over his keyboard, elbows tight to his side, his fingers resting quietly in the middle of a word. He moved only his eyes, which went slowly up from his keyboard and past the monitor to settle on his partner.

Meldrick opened his mouth, but Munch spoke first, "It's the oldeset religion, earth-based, and quite harmless. May even do some good for our Planet Earth, as Wiccans believe all life is sacred. And they're not Satan worshippers, don't believe in him. Satan is strictly a Christian god."

Lewis said to Bayliss, "So you've decided to become a warlock instead of a monk—that explains why you haven't shaved that round head of yours yet..."

Bayliss frowned. "Aren't you listening? Have a little respect for religion—"

"Opiate for the masses," John looked at Meldrick, "But Timmy's right."

"MY GOOD KNIGHTS," Gee brought silence again, all faces turned to him, "Knights of the rectangle tables, set aside your jousting and continue your worthy quest to end the evils of this land! Lord Lewis! Lord Munch! The king requests your presence in his royal chambers." John and Lewis followed Gee into his office, arguing in whispers. Frank leaned back in his chair, lit a cigarette, blew out the smoke in a steady blue stream. He gave Tim a long, hard look. "What, may I ask, are you into now?" he said pleasantly.

*****

"Gentlemen," Gee sat back, huge dark hands dangling off the arms of his chair, "You'll be pleased to know that your John Doe has a name."

"What?" and "Already?" Both detectives blurted together.

"Calm yourselves," Gee smiled. "Why so surprised? A third nipple is as good as tattoo across the forehead when it comes to identifying marks."

"So, why were we called into your office for this tidbit, who—" John was starting to get a bad feeling. He looked at Lewis, who had the same _uh, oh_ look on his face.

"I can see by your expressions that you sense a red ball. And the intuition that makes you the fine detectives you are is correct. Our red ball's name is Sterling Parker, as in Senator Bernice Parker. As in _her_ _son_." Two mouths dropped open. Gee had to laugh, but sobered quickly. "So far, gentlemen, the press is unaware of the situation, and we plan on keeping it that way for as long as possible. Of course all of your fellow detectives will be assigned to the case, but keeping this under wraps means no extra help, from shifts or units, uniforms or plainclothes. And that is how it stands at this point in time. Now, then. Which one of you took the call?"

"Yours truly," mumbled Lewis.

"Then you are the primary. And, Munch, that makes you the secondary.

Lewis leaned towards Munch and said with a wicked grin, "That makes _you_ the _knave_!" 

Munch ignored him, protesting, "But, Gee, I only went because Kellerman..."

"You dare to question your king?" Gee rose from his chair, looking suddenly fierce, but his eyes sparkled. "Not another word, Detective. Go now, my fine knights, and find your dragon—before you find another before you!"

COME, Knave!" Lewis commanded. Munch growled and followed him out the door.

Gee was right behind them. "But first," he said. They turned to see him holding up a finger. He smiled and looked past them. "Hear ye, hear ye, ye lords and ladies of the land, your king calls for a counsel..." he sang out.

*****

The kite was stuck in a tree. Brody laughed at the look on Howard's freckled face. He had never seen such emotions from her as he had that morning. She had two faces at work—serious or angry—but Brody knew there were more, he just knew it. And he was amazed to be the one to bring them out in her.

"It's okay, Sergeant," he touched her elbow gingerly, "Kites were meant to be broken, caught in trees. Nothing lasts forever."

She sighed, looked at her watch. Brody cursed himself—he knew what was coming, and wished he had said something else.

"You're right, Brody, I guess—"

"What did you want to talk about?" Brody quickly asked.

"Oh, yeah..." She seemed shy, suddenly, hesitant. "Brody, do you like to walk?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, just... walk."

Brody shoved his hands deep into his rumbled corduroys. "Well, yeah. I sure walked a lot last night." Kay looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking up at the kite caught in the bare, jagged branches of the tall tree, it seemed to tremble in the winter wind. He was thinking he knew how that kite felt.

"Hey, com'on, Brody. Let's walk."

Brody gave her a small smile. "Okay. Just give me a second." He had to stall, to think, gather his thoughts as he gathered string. He didn't want their time together to end, not yet, not now, but what could he do? He felt he broke the magic with his 'nothing lasts forever' comment. _Why did I say that?_ he tortured himself. _Everything I say is just wrong._ And he was afraid of what she would say.

She waited, watching him while he rewound the string, following it towards the tree. He wasn't too tall, but hey, neither was she. His hands looked strong, capable, as they worked the string. He was at the tree now, and he raised the string and bit it in two, which made her think again of his teeth, which led to his mouth, and that little tuft of beard under his lip. He turned now, and walked back to her, leaving behind him a small amount of string blowing off the trapped kite. He shoved the spool into his coat pocket. Brody thought she had a strange look on her face, and his insecurity increased.

Without a word, they started back across the brown grass, walking close, shoulders almost touching.They headed towards the path along the water. Without the distraction of the kite, Brody now had a constant awareness of her. The wind suddenly lifted the ends of her shining red hair and blew it across his face. He quickly closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of it along with the fragrance of the ocean, and knew he would always have her now, forever, simply by breathing in, remembering. He thought he could feel an energy coming from her, a vibration, his hand tingled next to hers, and whenever their hands bumped he longed to reach his out and gently take hers. Brody and Kay turned onto the path. Now there were people out and about, the sun was high in the sky, the water glittering. Without thinking, he'd take her elbow whenever they veered to avoid collisions with joggers, dogs, skate boarders. An older woman being walked by her great dane noticed them, and smiled. She thought they made a cute couple.

*****

"Look, Brody," Kay finally spoke, "I owe you an apology, and NO, don't say anything, hear me out." Brody walked quietly at her side. "I jumped your case yesterday and I had no right to. I did a lot of thinking last night, and, well, two things stand out in my mind. One, you're not like them. Not in the least, and two, I believe you."

"Not like who, Detective Howard?" Brody stopped in the middle of the path and looked at her. "You believe me?"

"Well, yeah" Kay looked away, back at the city behind her. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, slid her hands in her back pockets under her p-coat, snuck a peek at Brody who was watching her intensely, then looked past his shoulder. Took a deep breath. "About what you said, about it, um, not being a joke."

Brody turned a new shade of red, looked at his feet and swallowed hard. "No," he said, and then, so quietly that she had to lean close to him to catch it, "no, it's not a joke." He looked up and saw her intense eyes just inches from his own. His whole being fell into those blue depths, he could feel himself leaning closer to her, and was powerless to stop it.

Just then, Howard's beeper went off. They jumped apart like someone had dropped a firecracker between them. Kay fumbled for the beeper, pulled it off her belt, looked at it, then turned her back to the sun so she could read it.

"Damn, dammit!" she said.

"What?" Brody asked.

She dropped the beeper into one pocket, pulled her cell phone out of the other, punched in a code. "Just my goddamned day off, and Gee's beeping, and it mu—hello? Yeah, Gee, Howard. Aw, hell, you kidding? Yeah. Be right there." She dropped the phone back in her pocket.

"What?" Brody asked again.

"Better get your camera, Brody, and get downtown fast. We've got a red ball, Gee's called a powwow," she said over her shoulder as she headed for her car.

"Right away, Sarge," Brody answered, sprinting backwards down the path as he spoke. He turned to full out run just as she turned and yelled, "Brody, wait!" He spun back to face her, expecting more instructions. She looked at him for a moment. Looked away. Sighed. "You can call me Kay," she called, taking big steps backwards. Brody stopped dead in his tracks, astounded, and happier than he had ever felt before. Kay saw he was grinning like the village idiot. "But _not_ on the job!" she laughed.

"Yes, Sir—I mean, yes, _Kay_," Brody called back. "Yes, Kay!" he whispered.

Then they both turned in opposite directions and ran like hell. 


	6. Chapter 6

**It Just Figures**

*Chapter Six*

Frank and Tim were cruising a six block radius of the crime scene. Frank lit a cigarette, and Tim shook his head, exasperated.

ÒI thought you were quitting now that the babyÕs come,Ó he said.

ÒDoes it look like IÕm quitting?Ó asked Frank.

ÒNo, but you saidÑÓ

ÒDo you see me smoking at home?Ó Frank asked sarcastically. ÒDo you see little Olivia in her little chair in the little back seat?Ó

ÒNo, Frank, I donÕt, butÑÓ

Frank pulled over to the curb and jumped out, ignoring Tim. Tim sighed and followed Frank.

A small group of men, Doo-wop crooners, were hanging on the corner, swaying, sending their soft voices in harmonious offers to a starlit sky. Even on a bitter winter night, a few people somehow managed to break from televisions, from work or no-work worries, from spousal overload without resorting to violence. A goddamned miracle, thought Frank. The bottle in the brown paper bag didnÕt hurt, either. He and Tim leaned back on the cold metal of the grey Cavalier, arms folded, ankles crossed, watching and listening. Bayliss said quietly, ÒSo, are you gonna gimmie one?Ó

Frank smirked, handed Tim a smoke. The corner singers were momentarily oblivious to the cops. Their voices were magic, pure and high and sweet. Both detectives let everything slide for the time being, just listening to the notes braid in the cold night air. The men were singing Mr. Sandman. Tim looked at Frank and said, ÒRemember this one?Ó

ÒA little before my time,Ó Frank said quietly.

ÒYeah, but comÕon, you know it, right?Ó Tim persisted. ÒFrank, you know thatÕs not what I meant.Ó

ÒThen say what you mean,Ó Frank snapped, back to his old self.

ÒContentious bastard tonight...Ó Tim mumbled.

Frank didnÕt hear the comment. He was headed toward the group, clapping. ÒGentlemen, bravo. And excuse me, but weÕd like to ask you some questions.Ó

The bottle went deep into an inside pocket. The group on the corner consisted of six tall men, five black and one wannabe, shifting from foot to foot, and eyeing Frank nervously, hands shoved into their coats. Frank may be a brother, but a cop is a cop is a cop. Even the black ones could be hell.

*****

Kay couldnÕt shake off the day. She was trying to keep her mind on the job, but it kept working itÕs way back to Brody. She wondered if she made a mistake, letting her guard down with him. But damnit, the way the early morning sun made his wide, square-fingered hands all golden, they way his grin spread as he watched her with the kiteÑshe caught it all. She was technically off duty, but there they all were, out on the streets, looking for clues and non-existent witnesses. For a case supposedly to be kept out of the press, there were dicks all over the bleedinÕ neighborhood. The press would be on this like cats on mice, she didnÕt even give it a day. She glanced at her watchÑway after midnight, and sheÕd had enough. She spun on her feet and headed for her car.

*****

Mikey tagged along with Munch and Meldrick. Munch was unusually quiet, glowering in the back seat. Meldrick was running off at the mouth about something, and Mike grunted, Òuh-huhÕsÓ every now and again, but his mind was on Juliana.

*****

Brody was back in his apartment, nothing to do on his night off unless a suspect was brought in for interrogation, in which case they would call his butt down to the precinct pronto. The courts were more and more inclined to looking at these sorts of tapes to be sure that no police brutality or coercion had been used to worm confessions. And every perp cried brutality once their lawyers stood them up in front of a judge. He had lit a candle and some cheap incense, and was sitting back on his ratty couch, feet on the scratched coffee table. He knew he should concentrate on the red ball, even if he was just a police photographer, but again KayÕs image replayed in his headÑthis time without the magic of video. Brody had the window open to the now easy winter breeze, just a crack, just enough to let slip in the smell of the oceanÑand the memory of the scent of her.

*****

Back in the car, Frank and Bayliss were quiet. Frank was at the wheel as usual, Tim was leaning on his door, smoking, the window cracked. The night was a complete bust.

*****

Munch, Meldrick and Kellerman were all out of breath. Kellerman shoved the young man into the side of the car, where he landed with a resounding bang. Wisely giving up, he simply draped himself over the car, leaning heavily. His cheek was resting on its roof, his hands behind him, crossed over his butt, waiting for cuffs. The detectives had spotted him lurking in the shadows of a stairwell near the scene and approached to question him and he had run like a gazelle. He soon found himself in a heap under three short-tempered, overworked copsÑall for a baggie of reefer in his pocket. 

Why me? he thought.

*****

Brody shook off sleep at a sudden knocking on his door. The skinny stick of burned-out incense had left a long, obscene-looking ash slowly drooping in the still, cold air. He shoved the window down on his way to the door, wondering who the hell would be looking for him at this time of night. He opened the door to Kay. She looked haggard and stressed and beautiful. He stood there stunned, staring at her.

She put a firm hand on his chest, gathered some shirt and pulled, saying, ÒYou talk too much, Brody,Ó and her warm mouth fell onto his, and they stumbled back into his apartment.

*****

ÒI told you, I didnÕt see nothinÕ! What do you want from me?!Ó demanded the kid. They had been in the box for nearly two hours.

ÒYou tell usÑwhat _do_ we want from you, reefer boy?Ó said Mikey, who sat on the table edge on the kidÕs left. 

Lewis, perched on the right, jumped in. ÒWhat we want from you, my man, is anything you may have seen last night on the very block we found you suckinÕ in that stairwell! You know you lookinÕ at a long sit in the cage for your little weekend pastime? WeÕre all friends here. You give us what we want, and we can maybe, you know, make it all go away, just a bad dream, my friend.Ó Lewis felt like shit, using a little bit of marijuana as an excuse for dragginÕ this dumbass down here. But it was what cops did. TheyÕd grab any chance, no matter how slim, on a whodunit like this one. Sometimes theyÕd get lucky, sometimes someone saw something and traded what they saw to save their butts. What the hell did Lewis care, a dude wantinÕ to lighten his load with some Mary Jane? Most potheads didnÕt commit murder. They just went home and crashed. He hated this part of the job.

Munch was feeling bad, too. He wanted no part of this. He was leaning on the wall across the room, watching. He himself indulged on occasion, but admitting something like that would cost him his badge. Still, it made him feel like one big, fat hypocrite, just being in the same room while they badgered the unlucky schmuck. But who knew, maybe he knew something. So John stayed quiet.

The only hard case was Kellerman. He just didnÕt get it, drugs. He thought weed was dangerous, and even if he was wrong, it was still illegal. Who the hell needed it, anyway? Who needed the spoon, the snort, the needle, when there was that big wide ocean out there with all itÕs mystery and challenge? He looked forward to cracking this guy, and then getting over to the Waterfront, blowing off this crap night with the help of a couple of boiler makers so he could sleep when he got back to the boat.

Behind the one-way glass, Gee turned away, tired and discouraged.

*****

ÒBrody, I swear to bleedinÕ God if this gets back to the precinctÑÓ

Brody was cross-eyed with love and awe. The sun spread warm like melted butterscotch across the worn, wood floors, and shimmered like glitter, it seemed to him, in her hair spread over the pillows.

ÒHonest, Sarge,Ó he grinned, he couldnÕt help himself, Òthis is just between you and me. Oh, Lord, Kay, _you_ and _me_? Did I just say that?Ó He tangled his fingers in her hair, tightened them until she yelped.

ÒBrody, jeeze!Ó but she was laughing, and she raised her head and gave him a quick kiss. ÒHey, you know the guys, you know how they are.Ó

ÒJealous,Ó he came back quickly.

ÒThey just donÕt need to know this,Ó she ignored his compliment. ÒItÕs just none of their damn business. I canÕt have them knowing IÕmÑÓ

ÒKay...,Ó Brody stopped. He looked so sad suddenly. Kay quit smiling as he looked away and continued, ÒYou wouldnÕt be, you know, ashamed or anything, would you? To be with someone like me?Ó

She grabbed his chin and turned his face back to her. His eyes stung, suddenly, and he closed them. Kay sighed. ÒBrody, look at me. No. Okay? No. What do you mean, with someone like you? Why would I be here if I felt that way? ComÕon, hey! You _know_ them. You understand, yeah?Ó

Brody didnÕt answer, and he didnÕt open his eyes. ÒAw, hell,Ó Kay thought. She didnÕt know what to say to convince him, and was both annoyed and horrified at the situation.

He whispered, ÒKay,Ó and lowered his mouth to hers, his lips touching softly like a beeÕs feet touching, brushing a flower, his small teeth gently nipping, and she wrapped her arms around him.

End of Chapter Six


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